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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22663192">grab my hand (we’re drowning)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/packrat/pseuds/packrat'>packrat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ke one parters [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Kind Of Graphic, Nightmares, PTSD, and Eve will be there to comfort her, and how it would manifest in nightmares, dedicated to the one person I had one conversation with about Villanelle’s trauma, description of violence, panic attack kind of vibe, ptsd!villanelle, rewritten in aug 2020, soft!villanelle, v likes to be the little spoon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:41:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22663192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/packrat/pseuds/packrat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eve wakes up from a dream to find Villanelle having nightmares feat. a conversation</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Villaneve - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ke one parters [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>grab my hand (we’re drowning)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a recurring dream you’ve had for the past couple of weeks: always about her and you and Rome. Before the bang. When everything was still kind of okay. When the worst thing you could imagine was Alaska in August, only her and you. </p><p>They’re always just flashes of memories, like a third person had taken photographs of you without you knowing: </p><p>Villanelle’s hand in your own, slotting together and fitting perfectly. The warmth it radiates is one you could easily get used to. Sometimes, when you wake up, you can still feel it. The memory of it. </p><p>Blonde hair that’s tamed in a bun sitting low in her neck. A few wisps of hair are flying astray, softly moving in the wind. She is dressed in all red, and you can’t distinguish between clothes and blood, guiding the way while you follow along. </p><p>Your mind constantly circles around a heavy, bloody axe that’s stuck in a meaty, bulky shoulder. Red flesh staring at you.</p><p>Even in your dreams you still remember the way it had felt in your hand. The coldness of the wooden handle. The weight. The overall power accompanying holding the weapon ever present in the back of your mind.</p><p>When the blonde head turns, you come face to face with a field of blooming poppies. Spots of blood that are slowly drying in the heat. It’s your fault Villanelle’s face is covered in blood. You look down, guilt consuming you, sitting heavy in your chest. You expect to be holding the axe but find out that all you’re holding is her hand.</p><p>You’re supposed to be on the run and yet you take all the time to wander around those ruins for what feels like days. You feel the sunshine on your face and you can hear the birds singing high above you. The gravel crunches loudly underneath your shoes. You feel the affirming squeeze of the hand in yours. </p><p>Everything feels bright and warm and then the scenery changes and you’re in a bed. It’s all that exists in a clean white room.</p><p>The bed. </p><p>Villanelle. </p><p>And you. </p><p>You’re drowning in a sea of crisp white sheets and in each other and in this dream you’re convinced that this is your forever. </p><p>It has to be.</p><p>A place without running and fighting and killing and almost getting choked to death and heavy axes burying into meaty shoulders of mean men that are also working for the head of a malevolent organization. And his blood on porcelain skin. </p><p>And then whimpers. </p><p>So quiet you dismiss them at first. </p><p>The bed. And the both of you. And the bed, the bed, the—</p><p>But they persist. </p><p>Something in your subconscious tells you that there’s something wrong. To wake up and check where the whimpering is coming from. To make sure she is safe. That you are safe. </p><p>When you come to, you find yourself in the same bed from your dreams and the room is decorated just as scarcely, only your clothes are scattered about haphazardly. The air feels used up and hot. The pink sundress your girlfriend wore the day before and your own yellow blouse leave a trail with several pairs of shoes and a pair of black jeans leading up to the bed.</p><p>Next to you, Villanelle is sleeping. </p><p>Her back is bare and facing you. </p><p>The moonlight shines inside from the window behind you, glowing bright and white. You are tracing the vertebrae sticking out of soft skin, illuminated by the weak light of the moon, with only your eyes. Beauty marks are scarce and scattered on almost too perfect skin and you, you desperately want to reach out with your hand and trace them with your fingertips. Calloused fingers against flawless canvas. You want to see the goosebumps forming. Want to be the cause for them. Want to kiss every inch of this absolute masterpiece of a woman, of a body. Want to consume Villanelle, yet savor her. </p><p>(You’ve done that all of yesterday’s evening and into the night mind you but she is your drug and you’re not willing to quit.)</p><p>And though Villanelle’s back is exposed and the room is almost too hot to bare and the covers are pulled up all the way to her chin, you can see that the younger woman is shaking.</p><p>It’s only then that hear them again: the helpless sounds that made you wake up in the first place. The noises make you wonder if the she is awake.</p><p>“V?” You ask cautiously, quietly. But you’re getting no response. You reach your hand out but stop yourself right before touching her shoulder. Holding yourself back for several reasons. Your hand balls into a fist instead, caught in conflict. There’s something so contradictory about this situation that makes you wonder how much you really know about your girlfriend. You suppose it’s not that much and she probably knows equally as little about you. Still, this makes you worry.</p><p>Seemingly out of nowhere, the sounds become louder. They quickly turn into screaming and then the blonde woman turns around abruptly and violently. Her face is contorted in pain and tears are running down her face while her eyes are squeezed shut. She’s lightly thrashing around while mumbling incoherently in what you can only presume is Russian. </p><p>Without thinking, you touch her face and you’re instantly met with green eyes looking— terrified? </p><p>You don’t have a chance to get a good look at them before Villanelle screams again, even louder this time, eyes wide and throws herself off the bed, onto the ground and scrambles into the furthest corner of the room. She’s looking right at you but at the same time looking right through you, as if she’s not really seeing you. As if she’s seeing ghosts.</p><p>“Don’t touch! Please!” she basically begs. “Don’t  - please. I’ll be good girl.”</p><p>Or talking to you. </p><p>The accent feels too heavy on Villanelle’s tongue.</p><p>It’s a side of Villanelle that you haven’t gotten to see before but you’re sure you recognize the typical traits of your lover’s behavior instantly. You’ve studied it enough in university to assess what might be going on:</p><p>
  <em>Vivid flashbacks, intrusive thoughts or images, nightmares, intense distress at real or symbolic reminders of the trauma, physical sensations such as pain, sweating, nausea or trembling. </em>
</p><p>It explains why, despite all your efforts, she always wanted you to sleep in a separate room.</p><p>You feel helpless as you get up to open the windows, the fresh night air making the hairs on your naked body stand up. And you realize that she’s naked as well. You sit down on the bed again, facing Villanelle.</p><p>“Villanelle?” You finally speak up in hopes that your words are reaching her somehow. “Nobody is going to touch you. I promise. <em>I</em> won’t touch you. You’re safe. This isn’t real. What you’re experiencing right now isn’t real. You’re safe. It’s just you and I in this room.” <em>Tell them that the things they experience aren’t real. Tell them that they’re safe. Tell them who you are.</em> “It’s only you and me in this room. Only Villanelle and Eve.”</p><p>When she hears your name, Villanelle looks up momentarily. “Eve?” Her voice is timid. Almost scared. Her eyes are frantically searching the room yet they never land on you.</p><p>You grab the blanket from her side, standing up to cover her shivering body.</p><p>“Vil?” You ask but she doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s just a mess of salty tears, shaking bones and naked skin, cowered into herself to appear as small as possible. Her hand protectively covers the scar from when you’d stabbed her. </p><p>”Eve?” The younger woman chokes out again, the edges of her voice rising again. </p><p>“V, babe? I’m here,” you reply calmly, but Villanelle doesn’t seem to react to her own name. Instead she is whimpering and searching for you, still trapped somewhere between flashback and reality. </p><p>You inhale and exhale deeply, unsure if the thing you’re about to do is the right thing to do but you don’t give yourself the time to contemplate the possible aftermath of your yet unspoken words before they leave your mouth. </p><p>“Oksana?” you ask and finally, she looks <em>at</em> you, not <em>through</em> you anymore.</p><p>And then you can see it: the pure panic coursing through the young woman’s veins. You see it in red rimmed scared green eyes, in tear streaked skin, in a slightly shaking lip. Villanelle exhales and so do you and some of the panic falls from Villanelle’s shoulders. She’s back in reality for now.</p><p>“You must be freezing,” You state rather than ask while moving to wrap your girlfriend in the blanket you’ve been holding. You try to ignore Villanelle’s flinching while telling her that you only want her to be warm and feel safe as you do so and quickly retreat to sit down next to her on the floor. </p><p>You lay your hand on the floor between the two of you, tell Villanelle that she can take it when she’s ready. That you won’t touch her unless she says so. What feels like hours must only have been minutes but when you feel a sweaty and shaking hand atop yours, you finally feel like you can breathe again.</p><p>”Squeeze once for no, twice for yes. Okay?” <em>Squeeze squeeze.</em> “Do you want me to hold you?” <em>A strong squeeze.</em> “Okay. Do you want me to go?” <em>An even stronger squeeze. Villanelle now holds your hand like she’s scared you will leave her if she’s not holding on to you for life.</em> “Stay?” <em>Squeeze squeeze.</em> “Do you want me to keep talking?” When she doesn’t get answer you look over and see Villanelle staring off into the distance again.</p><p>“You and I, we’re by the beach. It’s just us two, nobody else. You’re safe. Can you hear the waves?”</p><p>You’re waiting patiently. And then Villanelle nods. And then you’re exhaling with relief. “What else do you hear? Four things.”</p><p>The answer is so silent that if you weren’t   concentrating on her, you might have not heard it. It’s so uncharacteristic of Villanelle to be quiet and anxious instead of loud and flamboyant. Tiny where she would usually take up everyone’s space as well as her own: “The waves crashing in the shore. And the wind. The shitty birds that steal your food. You.”</p><p>“Good girl,” you reply, happy that she’s talking and you can feel how the tension is leaving Villanelle’s body. You can see it in the slumping shoulders and the closed eyes relaxing and hear it in her loud exhale. </p><p>”Three things you can see.”</p><p>”The bed. The carpet,” Villanelle turns her head. “You.”</p><p>”Two things you can smell.”</p><p>”The beach. The duvet.”</p><p>”One thing you can taste?”</p><p>”Blood.”</p><p>(It’ll be something you’ll hear a lot in the coming weeks. Of her biting the insides of her cheeks so hard that her mouth is getting all bloody and all you can do is hope it don’t happen again in the future.)</p><p>You don’t know what to reply to that, so instead you decide to get up from the floor and reach your hand out to help Villanelle up as well. “Lets go back to bed. It’s getting really uncomfortable.”</p><p>Villanelle laughs. </p><p>Only when you’re back in the bed, wrapped in the blanket, wrapped in your silence, accompanied by the sounds of the beach and your breathing, you dare to ask. </p><p>“Was that the first time?”</p><p>Villanelle shakes her head and buries it deeper into your body, both of you content with just holding and being held. And you understand that Villanelle does not want to talk about it right now. So you just hold her close with one arm while the hand of the other runs through matted blonde hair, fingertips lightly scratching her scalp. You kiss her head and hold her close until she falls asleep.</p><p>It’s a week later when you ask again: “What were you dreaming about?” You’re in a different bed tonight, a different hotel, a different city, a different country. You are holding Villanelle in your arms again.</p><p>“What I always dream about, Eve,” she replies with an ‘what a stupid question’ tone of voice. You know she is deflecting, see it in Villanelle’s body language. She grows quiet again and you let her be for a moment. </p><p>You want to say that she’s bound to have to talk about it and open up if you want to make it work but you don’t have to because Villanelle is sitting up and opposite you and takes a deep breath. </p><p>“Usually when I have these dreams they are about the time I spent at that horrible man’s house after you stabbed me. Or the time you stabbed me. Or my childhood, him. Or Konstantin abandoning me. Or you abandoning me. Her abandoning me. Or all of them together,” she stops for a second and then: “Sometimes they’re about Nadia. Or Anna. About Russia. And Prison. You name it.” She chuckles bitterly and though you can’t see Villanelle’s face, you’re certain that she is still struggling with all these things that have happened to her, her accent sounding heavier than usual. “But lately it’s you abandoning me. Last time it was about him.”</p><p>Him, you want to ask. But you suppose she’s being vague for a reason, to protect herself maybe. So you don’t ask.</p><p>
  <em>"You said you don't want anything, you don't like anything, that you're bored. Do you mean it?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don't know."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You don't know if you're telling the truth or not?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Not really."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You don't feel anything?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”I feel things when I'm with you."</em>
</p><p>Villanelle sobs suddenly and you regret asking because this is entirely different yet undiscovered territory. </p><p>“They’re so real, Eve. I feel how the knife goes inside me when I dream about it. I feel the hotness and the pain and the blood all over my body when it comes out again. I feel dizzy and disgusting and scared. I feel him suffocating me and suddenly I can’t breathe because his hands are like a too tight necklace around my neck but there are no hands, Eve, I— there—“ she sobs again. Heaving. Her hands find her way to her neck as if to make sure that the hands she’s feeling aren’t there. </p><p>“‘ksana. You’re safe. There’s no knife and no hands. It’s just you and me. Breathe. In and out. In. And out. Good girl. It’s just you and me. Breathe.“ </p><p>You are grateful that Villanelle stops putting this wall up around you, that she allows herself to be Oksana when it’s just you. But it’s heartbreaking to see all the pain bubbling up to the surface. Too much pain.</p><p>You put your hand in the space between you again, tell her to take her time and take it when she’s ready and wait. You’re not sure what to say. You feel terrible for all the things she has been through in her 26 years of being alive. You feel sorry for Villanelle, wish you could change parts about her life that are still plaguing her mind.</p><p>Then you feel the familiar warmth of Villanelle’s hand atop yours again.</p><p>”Do you want me hold you?” <em>One squeeze and then, hesitantly, another one.</em> “Are you sure?” Villanelle nods and you pull her into your own body immediately, hands finding their way into her hair. They continue to run through Villanelle’s soft blonde hair until she stops shaking.</p><p>“Please don’t leave me again,” her voice breaks almost immediately. “I don’t think I will be happy without you.”</p><p>“Look at me, Oksana,” your tone sounds lightly demanding. And when she looks into your eyes, you want, you need to make sure that she understands that what you’re about to say is important to you.  </p><p>“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Villanelle nods. “And I won’t go anywhere. Anywhere without you anyway. Wherever you are, I am. I won’t leave you.” Your thumb lightly brushes over Villanelle’s cheek. “You have me. I’m yours.”</p><p>You pull Villanelle towards you once again and kiss her forehead. “I’m yours, too,” you hear her say right before she falls asleep in your arms and you can’t remember a time when you’ve ever been happier in your entire life.</p>
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